


The Untold Want

by Cookie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/pseuds/Cookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon was the down-trodden son of the Duke of Camelot.  After a break-down he goes to Cascades, a sanatorium, and begins to learn how to live his own life.  That becomes even easier when he meets aspiring architect, Merlin Emrys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Untold Want

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the 1942 film, Now Voyager, starring Bette Davies and Paul Henreid http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0035140/
> 
> I'd wanted to see Arthur and Merlin in these roles for ages, so I'm delighted to get the chance to play. The film is one of those wonderful black and white Hollywood romantic melodramas, with lots of longing looks, secret touches and dramatic language. Trying to keep the boys in character but still give that vibe was fun, and only the reader can judge whether if has succeeded.
> 
> WARNING - There is infidelity in the fic, so if that is something you find difficult then this story might not be for you. It's not between Merlin and Arthur, and it is in the background although an important driver for some of the story.
> 
> THANKS to tu_es_mi_amour for coming to my rescue and doing a great beta job at short notice!

  
_The untold want, by life and land ne'er granted,_  
 _Now, Voyager, sail thou forth to seek and find._

Walt Whitman

 

“Master Arthur?” The knock at his door was a discreet tap, but there was no gainsaying the urgency in the soft tone accompanying it. “Master Arthur, your father requests your company in the drawing room.”

Requests your company.

There was a cynical twist to Arthur’s mouth. Requests your company was a euphemism the servants had coined. His father had probably told them Arthur was to attend him in the drawing room immediately. An order, not a request. With Uther it was never a request. With Uther, nothing was _ever_ a request.

Arthur frowned at the easel. The delicate watercolour had almost been finished, but the abrupt summons had startled him, lost as he’d been in his own, much happier, world, and now there was a smear of green across the creamy white of the camellia flower.

“I’ll just wash my hands, Monmouth. Please tell my father I’ll only be a moment.”

For a few seconds after the footsteps retreated Arthur breathed deeply, clenching and unclenching his fingers, before he could gather himself enough to unroll his sleeves and pick up his jacket. He checked himself in the full-length mirror, hating the picture in front of him.

Uther did not believe in exercise, nor did he approve of the type of food Arthur preferred, ensuring huge stodgy meals were served three times a day. Arthur was, to put it bluntly, fat. Together with the old-fashioned haircut, the dreadful handle-bar moustache his father also insisted on, and clothes some thirty years out of date, Arthur looked closer to forty years old rather than his actual twenty-six.

Arthur hated himself and hated his life. He relied financially on his father and every attempt to work either independently or within the family business was thwarted. In addition each and every penny had to be accounted for, which meant Arthur had no resources allowing him to leave. He could have asked his sisters for help, but it would put them in the difficult position of having to go against their father and Arthur had too much pride to ask them anyway. His occasional bottle of whisky and cigarettes came from pennies carefully hoarded and saved from occasional cash gifts from his sisters. His sisters, who’d managed to escape Uther’s domineering presence only through marriage. Something Arthur was unlikely to be able to do in his current state. Who’d want him, anyway? He stared at fat, pasty features, his brow drawn down in an almost perpetual frown and wished his life was over.

He could ignore the summons no longer and drawing in a deep breath he tried to ease the knot in his stomach; a knot that every day seemed to grow within him, both tightening and swelling in some terrifying paradox. Arthur pulled his tattered composure together and descended the grand staircase of the family home to make his way to the drawing room as he’d been commanded.

It seemed to be a mass of people and the faces swam in front of him. His father, His Grace the Duke of Camelot, seldom allowed his “ugly duckling” as he consistently called Arthur, to be in the company of so many people because Arthur had little in the way to recommend him either conversationally or in looks. Or so Uther repeatedly claimed. Arthur had long ago decided his father hated him, and was convinced Uther kept him so close so he could constantly remind Arthur how he’d killed his mother, Uther’s darling Ygraine and the only person Uther had really loved. The woman who’d been so desperate to bear Uther a son she’d ignored the doctor’s advice and gone ahead with the pregnancy, dying shortly after Arthur’s birth.

The faces resolved themselves into those of his older sisters. Morgana, closest to him in age and still twelve years his senior had made a brilliant early marriage to Uther’s satisfaction. Leon was a famous architect who adored her and she’d quickly provided him with a son – Tristan – who Arthur cordially loathed, and had then launched her own fashion label with Leon’s whole-hearted support. Their father disapproved, of course, but Leon, showing more backbone than Arthur had ever expected of him, had politely informed Uther that Morgana was his wife, was his business and was perfectly capable of making her own decisions.

The oldest of Uther’s three children was Morgause, only two years older than Morgana, and who was suitably cowed by her autocratic husband, Cenred – or so it seemed on the surface. Arthur had never quite bottomed out the dynamics of that marriage. Cenred was currently slouched on one of the sofas and was smoking a fat cigar, oblivious to Uther’s overt distaste.

As it turned out there was only one unknown face among them, an elderly man who Arthur was astute enough to realise was studying him carefully. Arthur raised an eyebrow and Morgana hastened to introduce them.

“Arthur, this is Gaius Harcourt. He’s an old friend of mine.”

If he was such an old friend, Arthur wanted to ask, why had Arthur never heard of him before? He sneaked a glance at his father’s expression and recognised Uther was on the verge of an outburst. He was right.

“ _Dr_. Harcourt is here to see you, Arthur. Apparently your sisters think you’re depressed. I’ve never heard such nonsense – how could you possibly be depressed when you live in the lap of luxury and don’t have to lift a finger.” Uther snorted. “Absolute stuff and nonsense. Really, Morgana, I can’t believe you brought a psychiatrist into my house.”

“Father, you promised,” Morgana said.

“I have never lied to my son, Morgana, and I don’t approve of dissembling. Now _Doctor_ , you’ve seen my son and it’s clear he’s perfectly well. I regret we’ve taken up so much of your time.”

Arthur gaped at them all. A psychiatrist. He stared at his father’s stern, unyielding features, the sympathy – the pity – on the faces of his sisters and brothers-in-law, and the calm, watchful gaze of Dr. Harcourt. In that one moment he felt as if he’d been stripped bare.

Into the sudden silence, Tristan erupted, a laughing dark-eyed beauty with his tousled brown hair, dressed in the height of fashion as always. There were only eight years between them, but Tristan always made Arthur feel like a dinosaur.

“Hello all. Mater, looking as wonderful as ever and oh, Uncle Arthur, looking very dapper today, I must say. Have you grown your moustache again? Very handsome.”

Years of silent, grim acceptance of being the butt of jokes, teasing and criticism boiled up within Arthur. To be teased in front of his family was one thing but in front of a stranger… Arthur could feel his colour rising, his breath shortening as anger, humiliation and total despair finally boiled over into speech.

“Yes, laugh, Tristan – go ahead and laugh. Why shouldn’t you? I’m worth the mockery. Poor fat Uncle Arthur – can’t work, can’t do anything – “ he broke off as he registered the aghast stares, Tristan’s open-mouthed shock, his father’s trenchant disapproval. Arthur let loose a laugh bordering on hysterical – even to his ears. At least that was one constant, he thought, his father’s disapproval. With a sob he couldn’t for the life of him suppress he turned and ran from the room like a child. 

He shot past Monmouth who was wringing his hands in his concern, and panted as he ran up the stairs to his room. Once there he tore off his jacket and waistcoat, running his fingers distractedly through his hair as he tried desperately to find some self-control.

A soft knock at the door was followed immediately by Dr. Harcourt’s entrance and Arthur was too well-mannered to tell him to leave, to scream at him to get out and let him be.

“Your father’s quite a formidable old gentleman,” was Harcourt’s opening gambit.

Arthur glared at the man as Harcourt wandered around the room before he came to a halt at the easel.

“Oh, I say, this is beautiful – really delicate work. Did you do this?” At Arthur’s nod he turned to stare at it again. “This is real talent.”

Arthur had little experience in receiving praise, and he hesitated, waiting for the off-hand comment that would be the sting in the tail. It didn’t come and Harcourt was still staring at the painting in admiration.

“You can have one if you like,” Arthur offered suddenly, and was surprised at himself. “Not that one,” he hurried on, “I spoiled it. What’s your favourite flower?”

“I’ve always loved daffodils,” Harcourt responded. “They always make me think of the spring – a long grey cold spell suddenly giving way to such bright colours.”

Arthur favoured him with a raised eyebrow but didn’t call Harcourt out on his rather obvious use of imagery. Instead, he went through his portfolio and pulled out a small six by six inch study of a daffodil. “Here,” he offered awkwardly.

“Oh, my boy, how beautiful. I may have this? Really?”

“Yes, of course.” Arthur was flustered but pleased. “I’ll pack it for you.” He placed it between two pieces of stiff card, carefully placing a piece of tissue paper over the surface of the painting to protect it. Finally he wrapped it in brown paper and tied it together with string before handing it over with a shrug.

“Thank you for this – truly.”

There was an awkward silence until Arthur said. “So, doctor, am I going mad?”

“Call me Gaius. I always think doctor sounds so stuffy, don’t you? Do you think you’re going mad?”

Arthur fiddled with a paintbrush, annoyed to see that he’d forgotten to clean it. Uther barely tolerated his hobby and Arthur found it difficult to obtain art supplies without argument and disapproval.

“Sometimes,” he mumbled.

“Well you’re perfectly sane, Arthur, don’t concern yourself about that. But I do think you could use a break, and you do need help, don’t you?”

“Can you help me?” He didn’t try to deny it.

“Yes. Yes, I can. There is a place out in the country in Somerset. It’s peaceful there; I think you’d like it. Lots of fresh air, plenty of exercise. Just what you need, my boy. Will you come?”

“My father,” Arthur swallowed. “He’ll never let me.”

“You leave everything to me.”

“I should go back down – apologise.”

“You’ve nothing to apologise for.” Gaius’ voice was so mild, but it carried authority and conviction and Arthur felt the knot in his stomach loosening just a tiny bit. 

“Stay here, Arthur. I’ll go down.”

“Thank you.” Arthur was not sure how to express his gratitude at being released from what would have been an onerous and humiliating duty.

Gaius smiled at him. “It’s nothing.” He picked up the picture. “Thank you again for this. It really is delightful.” 

**

Arthur never knew what Gaius said to his father, but less than a week later he was being driven to Cascades, the place Gaius had told him about. Uther had been as dismissive as ever, ranting on about the shame Arthur was bringing on the family, about how Cascades was a sanatorium for the mentally defective and there was no reason to go.

Morgana arrived to collect Arthur at that point and, with a quick kiss for her father, she bundled Arthur into the car, smiled at Monmouth who was directing the footmen just as quickly to stow the luggage and then they were on the road.

As they passed through the gate of the Pendragon’s London home Arthur felt himself relax. Even to the last, he hadn’t been sure his father would let him go.

“You really should learn to drive, Arthur.” Morgana took a bend at speed but with considerable skill.

“Father says there’s no point in learning when we have a chauffeur.” Morgana did not press the point, but he saw her eyes narrow. “It’s good of you to drive me down.”

“I’m just glad I could help.”

“You have. I – “ Arthur had spent too many years suppressing what he was thinking and feeling to be able to spill out all that was within him now. “Thank you for helping me,” he said.

Rather alarmingly, given the speed she was travelling, Morgana took a hand off the wheel and patted his knee. “Just get better, Arthur, that’s all the thanks I could ever want.”

 

**

In the end, Arthur spent six months at Cascades and during his time there he began to learn how to be the man he wanted to be. Cascades was a sanatorium, as Uther had claimed, but was set up to help people deal with the problems in their lives without resorting to drugs. Gaius Harcourt was something of a pioneer and used a mix of healthy living and careful discussion to help those in need. In some ways settling into Cascades was easy for Arthur. He’d always wanted a more physical lifestyle and part of the Cascades philosophy was fresh air and exercise. Before Arthur knew it, he was riding, playing tennis, rowing and fencing – which he adored – on a regular basis, and joining in enthusiastically with whatever _ad hoc_ team game happened to be planned each day, discovering as he became fitter a passion and an ability for football.

The food, too, was more to his liking and he learned to stop eating when he felt full, enjoying the fresh vegetables, fruit and fish that were staples on their menu.

Gradually, he was pulled into the life of the place, discovering to his shock one day, he’d somehow agreed to give art lessons to some of the younger residents. Even more shocked when he enjoyed imparting his knowledge to youngsters and became aware of Gaius’ approval at how he handled them, dealing with the hysteria, depression and anger and every other emotion of troubled children with a calm authority. Before long, they were coming to Arthur for advice and support and after checking with Gaius rather nervously about it and getting his blessing, Arthur did as much as he could to help, careful always to check with the professional staff. He knew too well how a casual word or a particular attitude could stay with a child and blight their young lives. 

And at Gaius’ insistence, Arthur learned to drive.

The only part of the whole experience he found he disliked were the one-to-one sessions he had to undergo with Gaius. At first he sat almost silently through the sessions, answering soft questions with monosyllables while watching every word. Eventually he began to relax and speak more, understanding Gaius was guiding him through an emotional sea, not always avoiding the storms, certainly, but always ensuring he did not get caught and pulled down into a whirlpool of anger and self-loathing. Slowly, steadily, Gaius dismantled Arthur, breaking him down into his fundamental parts, holding them up to the light and examining them – and worse, getting Arthur to examine them too, laying him bare and exposed.

Then, then Gaius set about helping Arthur to rebuild himself, restoring confidence, identifying his strengths and teaching him how to make his own decisions.

A lifetime with Uther coupled with a natural reticence made every session an exhausting ordeal and Gaius said nothing when immediately after each appointment Arthur would grab his sketchbook and disappear for a couple of hours. It was debateable how much sketching actually occurred but Arthur soon realised no one would bother him and he’d be left alone until he’d worked through the issues the session had raised and was ready to face the other residents again. 

One day, when Arthur realised his trousers were held up only by his braces and his belt had tightened as far as it could go, he took the car belonging to Cascades and, heart thumping and palms sweating, he drove to Taunton.

The car parked safely, Arthur wandered through the town’s main street. As he passed the barbershop he caught sight of himself in one of the mirrors and grimaced at the terrible moustache, wondering why he hadn’t shaved it off before now. On a whim, he stepped inside.

When he looked in the mirror after a shave and a haircut there was a moment when sheer terror gripped him – because he didn’t recognise the face staring back at him.

“That’s better, sir, it takes twenty years off you. Who knew there was such a handsome gent under all that?”

The face in the mirror grinned widely. “Thank you.”

Arthur left behind a handsome tip and with a spring in his step he headed to the gentleman’s outfitter Gaius had recommended. Morgana, perhaps guessing something like this might happen, had provided him with a generous cash gift he hadn’t needed to touch during the first four months at Cascades. He used it gladly now, happy he was doing something beyond his father’s control and for the first time choosing his own clothes. He didn’t even bother taking the old clothes with him when he was finished, waiting patiently until they fitted and quickly altered a shirt, sports jacket and casual trousers. They promised the mound of other garments he’d ordered would be delivered in batches over the next few days.

It wasn’t until he was sitting at the bar in the Castle Hotel with a pint of beer in front of him – Arthur loved beer and his father refused to have it in the house, labelling it a common drink – that he began to be aware of another change.

Arthur was used to fading into the background, used to people’s eyes sliding across him and dismissing him, but sitting in the lounge he suddenly realised the woman behind the bar was actually flirting with him. It made him acutely uncomfortable and he felt himself flushing. He ordered a sandwich for lunch and retreated to a corner table, burying himself in the local newspaper.

Quite apart form the shock of someone finding him attractive was the wry acceptance that she was barking up completely the wrong tree. There was the last revelation, he accepted, the one thing he’d never told anyone in his life. He’d first realised his preferences when his father had engaged a young chauffeur. Arthur at the time was barely a teenager and just beginning his own sexual awakening. He had liked the young man on sight and had enjoyed the flirting, catching one another’s gaze in the mirror, and soon Arthur had started taking every excuse to visit the garages behind the house.

It was there Uther had caught them. The irony was that nothing had happened. Uther had rounded the corner to discover the two young men in shirt sleeves in the middle of a water fight, as Arthur had surprised Gwaine, his name was Gwaine, in the process of washing the Daimler.

With a sharp order, Arthur had been despatched to the house. Later, Monmouth informed Arthur that Gwaine had been dismissed without notice or reference. In a rare act of defiance against his father by either of them, Monmouth had helped Arthur forge a reference and had delivered it, together with a couple of months wages filched from the housekeeping and a short note of apology. Monmouth had visited Arthur the same evening and he could recall every word of their short exchange.

_“Good evening, Master Arthur, is there anything you need?”_

_“No, Monmouth. Thank you. Is everything all right?”_

_“Everything is fine, sir. I was asked to thank you and the hope was expressed that you didn’t get into any trouble.”_

Arthur had glanced around his room and smiled wryly at Monmouth, both well aware Arthur’s curtailed existence was about to become even more restricted.

Brooding over his pint, it struck Arthur then that telling Gaius this deepest of secrets might just be worth it.

 

**

 

As it turned out, Arthur had no need to worry and he supposed, given his business and his brilliance in reading people, he should have guessed Gaius would already have worked it out. Arthur was grateful for the matter-of-fact acceptance and the frank discussion of what this might mean for his life.

“It will not be easy for you, my boy,” Gaius said, “but you’ll be fine, I know.”

“Is this why my father hid me away?” Arthur asked, “Because he knew, because he’s ashamed of me?”

“Oh, Arthur, no. Your father was trying to protect you. He loves you very much. Too much. It’s why he’ll always fight to keep you close.”

“I thought he hated me – because I killed my mother.”

“On the contrary. Of the three children, and despite being a boy, you’re most like Ygraine. Underneath everything, your father is terrified of losing you.”

Arthur was diverted by Gaius’ statement. “You knew my mother?”

There was a pause and Gaius grimaced slightly as if he hadn’t intended to let it slip, although Arthur found it difficult to believe this careful, calculating man wasn’t aware of his words at all times. Gaius sighed before he spoke again.

“I did. She came to me when she was having difficulty conceiving again and she began to suffer from depression. Uther never knew about her visits and once she became pregnant her depression lifted. She was very happy carrying you, you know. In her last session with me she told me she would love the child even if it wasn’t Uther’s longed for heir, but she was sure you were a boy. Arthur,” Gaius hesitated then, as if not sure he should say his next words at all, and then drew in a deep breath. “She told me about the risks of the pregnancy but also told me she wouldn’t change anything and that she loved her unborn child with every fibre of her being.”

Arthur left in a daze, hardly knowing what to think

 

**

 

It seemed as if his admission to Gaius of his preferences signalled an end to his therapy sessions. While they met every few days for a chat, Arthur was astute enough to recognise Gaius was providing him with techniques and methods for coping in the world, helping him to stand on his own two feet. For his last couple of weeks at Cascades his time was taken up with helping new arrivals settle in, playing sports and making regular trips to explore the Somerset countryside, his paint and sketch pad with him.

Inside him, something unfurled and began to grow.

 

**

 

None of Arthur’s new found confidence was with him now, however. Morgause, of all people, had suggested a cruise rather than going straight back to the Pendragon residence. Arthur had pounced on the idea as a means of delaying his return and the inevitable confrontation with his father, but now …

A friend of Morgause had originally booked the cruise but had to pull out, so at short notice Arthur had found himself kitted out with what Morgana and Morgause both assured him were the correct fashions for life on board and he was on the ship before he quite knew what was happening.

For the first three days he couldn’t physically force himself to step a single foot outside the cabin. To put it bluntly, he was terrified.

A knock at the door startled him and he relaxed as the steward entered with a couple of telegrams. One was from Morgause and his eyebrows rose as he opened it.

_My darling brother – I’m so proud of you._

Arthur blinked back tears. They weren’t a particularly affectionate family and truth to tell Arthur had never been entirely sure Morgause liked him at all, but this tangible evidence of his sister’s love affected him greatly. He smoothed his hands over the paper and smiled softly.

The other telegram was from Gaius.

_Remember you are in control. We’ve worked together to provide you with a set of tools – now it’s up to you to practice them._

_“Now, Voyager, sail thou forth, to seek and find.”_

Arthur stared at that for a long time, taking in the words of the Walt Whitman poem that Gaius was so fond of and had quoted often, before taking a deep breath and heading for the wardrobe.

 

**

 

“Ah, Mr. Beauchamp, I didn’t think you would be joining us. There is one last tender about to go ashore. May I ask you to share it with Mr Emrys here?” Andre Beauchamp was the friend who had been unable to go on the cruise and while the cruise company was aware of the substitution, so far only the purser knew Arthur’s true identity.

Arthur stuttered and stammered and before he knew it he was in the boat with the crewman and one other man, the stranger’s face shaded by his hat for the moment, and Arthur had the impression of a lean, long body before a hand reached out towards him.

“You don’t mind if I kidnap you, do you, Mr Beauchamp?” The voice was deeper than Arthur had expected and a little husky with an amused lilt to it, a touch of a Welsh accent, Arthur thought.

Arthur reached out and gripped the hand, grimly recalling Gaius’ exhortation he managed. “Not at all. It’s more fun to travel with company, isn’t it?”

By the time they’d released themselves from a handshake lasting slightly too long for politeness and Arthur’s comment had been greeted by a low laugh, Arthur already knew he was in trouble.

Despite his own nerves, they chatted easily on the way across and Arthur was persuaded to share Emrys’ carriage. As they clambered in and sat back Emrys removed his hat and Arthur got his first good look at him. Emrys was dark-haired, his face thin and good-looking, but it was his blue eyes that captivated Arthur and pulled him in. They were crinkled at the corners and twinkling merrily. It might have been fanciful but Arthur couldn’t quite shake the impression he was being welcomed, was being invited to be a part of something. He had to swallow bitter disappointment at Emrys’ next words. 

“Perhaps you could help me choose a present for my son, Mordred. I promised him I would buy him something from each port I visited.”

“Of course,” Arthur managed, his tone polite and he knew the crushing disappointment had cooled his tone.

A moment later there was the brush of fingers at his wrist and Arthur turned his head to meet the blue eyes, seeing apology and awareness there. Arthur swallowed when the touch was not withdrawn and he knew Emrys could feel the way his pulse was rocketing. He felt the heat in his cheeks and knew he was blushing.

Emrys smiled and released him but not before the touch took a caressing slide across his wrist.

Arthur spent much of the rest of the morning in a daze, well aware he was continuously blushing and flirting, knowing from Emrys’ response that he was enjoying their interchanges. For the first time in his life Arthur felt not just like an adult, but like an attractive man. Emrys chatted about his wife, Sophie, his words guarded but spoke more openly more about his son, Mordred, whom he obviously adored. Arthur was charmed by the stories Merlin told of his son; especially the tale of Mordred’s nickname and how he and Merlin had spent several weeks discussing a variety of ever more ridiculous names, before settling on Drey. As they walked around the town, Arthur helped Merlin choose a model kit of an aeroplane and a small pennant of the country. The kit was something Arthur would’ve loved as a child, but which Uther had dismissed as frivolous. The only battle Arthur had ever won against his father was about his art. Uther had allowed it when he was young but on his 16th birthday Arthur had been informed it was to stop, and his art supplies were to be removed.

For the first time in his life Arthur had lost his temper. He’d never quite forgotten the expression of shock on his father’s face. Of course, Uther had found a way to turn it to his advantage, but Arthur hadn’t cared, too relieved the threat had been withdrawn. In hindsight, he should perhaps have asserted himself more often, but had never found anything else worth fighting for.

Unwittingly, his fingers were gentle as he touched the box.

“Let’s get some lunch?”

Startled, Arthur looked up and met Emrys’ gaze, flushing at the soft sympathy there. He knew he’d been reticent about his life during their conversations and realised Emrys had guessed there was something behind his silence. They walked towards the restaurant and Arthur was thoughtful as they were shown to a table.

Emrys had told him so much and he felt he had to offer something of himself.

“I was never allowed modelling kits when I was young, but I was encouraged to paint.”

“Have you been sketching on board the ship?”

“No, I didn’t think to bring any materials.” Arthur laughed a little at his folly.

“What do you like to paint?”

“Flowers mostly. Some landscapes – I like to use watercolours.”

“I’m amazed by anyone who has such talent,” Emrys confided. “I’ve no talent at all.”

“Everyone can draw,” Arthur scoffed.

“No, believe me – I can just manage stick figures. Look,” Merlin grabbed a paper napkin and sketched quickly, handing it to Arthur when he was finished. Arthur promptly burst out laughing. There were two stick figures, one with a crown that looked as if it was slipping off the figure’s head, and the other with a wizard’s hat and staff.

“See, you are Arthur, like the king in the legends. And my mother, for my sins, called me Merlin – so this is me.”

They shared a grin and then Arthur sobered. “I’m not very king-like,” he murmured, self-pity getting the better of him.

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin’s tone was affectionate. “You really are.” He touched Arthur’s wrist lightly.

Arthur met his gaze then, and what he saw in Merlin’s eyes had the breath catching in his throat. They exchanged a long look before the conversation turned to the cruise.

Towards the end of the afternoon Merlin excused himself to make a phone call. When he returned they made their way back to the tender to return to the ship and as they left the carriage, Merlin passed him a slim parcel.

“This is for you – a small thank you for your help and company today. Will you join me for dinner this evening?”

Arthur managed to stutter a thank you and it was only when he was back in his cabin that he realised he’d agreed to meet Merlin for drinks before dinner.

Before he changed he opened the parcel, touched to see a sketchbook and a child’s set of watercolour paints with a brush. Obviously the best Merlin could find at such short notice. Arthur glanced at the clock. He had a couple of hours before he needed to dress and instead of panicking as he might have done with nothing else to think about, he grabbed the glass by the sink, filled it with water and set to work.

By the time he was self-consciously checking his appearance in the mirror and deciding that decent clothes made him look halfway presentable, the small painting was dry and he slipped it into his wallet. Taking a deep breath and repeating the words of the poem Gaius had sent him, he made his way towards the bar.

Merlin was already there, and looked amazing in the black dinner suit and crisp white shirt. His eyes sparkled when he saw Arthur and all of a sudden Arthur’s nerves settled and he smiled at his new friend. 

Merlin, it turned out, was a gregarious sort and Arthur was soon introduced to a whole range of his fellow passengers. Arthur discovered fairly early on he could hold a conversation and make people laugh. Throughout it all, he kept flicking his glance across to Merlin, aware of his silent support and grateful for it.

His only concern was the fact Merlin consistently introduced him as Andre Beauchamp and eventually as the evening drew on, it bothered him more and more and eventually he extricated himself from the laughing group and moved outside to lean against the rail and watch the moonlight on the water.

For the first time in his life he’d fallen in love – a foolish, forbidden love with a married man. All this had all happened in a single day no, he corrected himself, not even a day because he’d loved Merlin from the moment he’d met Merlin’s gaze and been welcomed in. Arthur pressed his hand to his forehead and struggled to find calm. How could this have happened to him? Arthur could tell Merlin was attracted to him, but the silly man had spoken about his wife with polite reserve and about his son with love and deep concern all day, as if he was trying to protect himself from Arthur. He wondered what it meant. Arthur tensed as he realised Merlin was behind him and was shocked that after knowing him for less than a day, he would recognise Merlin’s presence so absolutely.

“Arthur, are you all right?”

“You keep introducing me as Andre Beauchamp. Why would you do that? Are you making fun of me?”

“No! No, Arthur. You told me your name but I didn’t know if you wanted it to be common knowledge. It was not for me to say. Besides,” he admitted, “I rather liked that we had a secret between us.”

More than one, perhaps, Arthur thought and stumbled into speech. “I brought something for you, but it’s –” He turned to face Merlin and glanced at the bright lights and milling people in the lounge beyond. “Would you come to my cabin?” He was glad the night masked his sudden deep flush and grimly remembering the line from Whitman’s poem in Gaius’ telegram, he continued. “Just for a drink. I’ve a rather fine bottle of scotch – “

Merlin let loose a low unsteady laugh. “A glass of scotch sounds perfect about now,” he agreed.

Without another word Arthur led the way to his state cabin, ushering Merlin in with a hand to the small of his back, heat surging through him even at that small contact.

“I’ll just get some glasses.”

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice, strained now, halted him. “Forget the damn scotch.”

Before he quite realised what was happening, Arthur had been pulled tight against Merlin’s body. With a choked noise, he wrapped his arms around Merlin and buried his face against Merlin’s neck, pressing his lips to Merlin’s hammering pulse.

“Easy, love,” Merlin said. “Easy.”

They stood wrapped in the embrace for some time before Merlin pulled back and tipped Arthur’s head up, curving his fingers around Arthur’s jaw. “Oh, Arthur,” he said. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I do,” Arthur whispered. “Merlin, I do, because you’re doing it to me, too.” And with blind instinct he sought Merlin’s mouth.

It was his first kiss and it was everything he’d imagined and more. Merlin seemed to sense his inexperience and it was gentle as they learned one another. It all became a great deal more passionate when Arthur opened his mouth to let Merlin lick inside. 

By the time Merlin wrenched himself away they were both hard and Arthur whimpered at the loss of contact, taking a step forward and reaching for Merlin.

“No, Arthur, please. I can’t. I shouldn’t.” And Merlin slumped onto the cabin’s sofa, burying his head in his hands. 

Arthur stumbled backwards and sat down on the bed. “Because you’re married?”

There was a long pause.

“I was young when I married Sophie. I was trying to fit in, to pretend I could have a normal life. It wasn’t long before I realised I’d made a terrible mistake.” Merlin shrugged and looked so unhappy that Arthur moved to sit beside him and take his hand. Merlin squeezed his fingers. “I tried to end it, to leave her, but Sophie’s a good Catholic. She told me I could have liaisons, as long as I gave her a child and remained married to her she wouldn’t tell anyone about my … preferences. When Mordred was born, I thought my duty done, but – “ he paused. “She still wants me to be a husband and now she blames Mordred for me having no interest in her. He’s suffering and is becoming so introverted and silent. I’ve been with a few men since we were married – brief meetings. There’s been no one I’ve really wanted beyond a night or two. But you…” He shook his head hopelessly. “Arthur, the moment I saw you – “

“Me?” Arthur knew the disbelief was clear in his voice. “Why would you want me? I’m ugly – “

“Ugly? Arthur, why on earth would you think such a thing? You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t believe that you’d even look at me.”

“I want to show you something.” Arthur moved then, extricating a photograph from the bedside drawer and thrusting it at Merlin, his hand shaking. “That’s my family.” 

Merlin looked at it, puzzled, and pointed a finger at Uther’s unsmiling figure. “That’s your father.” He guessed. 

Arthur nodded. “My sisters,” he pointed them out, “their husbands and son.” He waited for the dreaded question.

“Who’s this unhappy gentleman? Your uncle?” 

There it was. 

“No,” the words would hardly come. “That’s me.”

Merlin did a gratifying double take. “No – surely not?”

Arthur was wringing his hands together. “I was ill you see. I went to – to a sanatorium. I… It’s …”

“Shh, shh,” Merlin pulled him into his arms, holding him close. “Come on,” he said eventually. “Let’s get comfortable and we can talk.” 

At Merlin’s urging they shed jackets and shoes, then lay on the bed, the very thought of which had Arthur feeling shivery inside at more intimacy than he’d ever known. And yet it felt so natural, held in Merlin’s arms while he spilled out the sorry story of his life to date. With Gaius everything had come in fits and starts, but here and now it all tumbled from him, and it felt so incredibly healing. When he was finally dry of words he buried his face against Merlin’s chest.

“You are amazing, Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was soft and awed. “To go through all that and still to be so strong.” He tipped Arthur’s head up and kissed him gently. Arthur responded eagerly, amazed at how quickly he’d become used to the touch of Merlin’s mouth. With a groan deep in his throat, Merlin shifted until his body was pressing Arthur’s into the mattress and it was instinct that had him meet Merlin’s thrust against him with one of his own, but then Merlin pulled away again, moving to sit at the edge of the bed as he buried his head in his hands, gripping and pulling at his hair.

“Merlin, please, I want –“

“I know, Arthur. I do, too, but it’s not fair to you and – I’m leaving the ship tomorrow at Porto Madryn. How can I -?”

Arthur stared at him, wondering how he could possibly find the words to tell Merlin that if one night was all there was then Arthur would take it. The ravaged expression Merlin eventually raised to him stopped any attempt as he realised what this was costing Merlin.

There was a long silence. Arthur remained where he was, lying on the bed and trying to ignore the beat of blood thrumming through him, keeping him aroused. Instead, he watched as Merlin gathered his composure and then Arthur crept his hand across the quilt until he could rest his fingers against the side of Merlin’s thigh.

With a shaky inhale, Merlin brought his hand down and interlinked their fingers keeping Arthur’s hand pressed against him.

How about that scotch, then?” Merlin asked.

Arthur fought against the sudden insane urge to pull him down, gripping the hand he held tightly before he drew in a deep breath.

“Of course.”

When they were settled, a glass of scotch in hand and half the cabin between them, Merlin spoke again.

“I was thinking of going out to Y Gaiman tomorrow. Some Welsh immigrants settled there and I’ve a distant cousin I’d like to visit. I wondered if you’d like to come along and see some of the countryside? The purser has organised a car for me so it’s all arranged. If we left mid morning we should get back in plenty of time for – for you to get back to the ship.”

“I’d like that.” Arthur really would take anything he could get.

“Good. That’s –“ Their gazes met and a thousand conversations took place. “That’s good.”

Arthur watched as Merlin swallowed hard and gathered himself, letting him lead their conversation into the safe subject of architecture, learning Merlin had wanted to be an architect before he married and had to find a job selling insurance instead.

It was only as Merlin took his leave that they faltered. Arthur suddenly recalled his small gift.

“Oh,” his voice stopped Merlin at the door. “I did this for you. It’s silly, I know.” He handed over the small drawing he’d done of the wizard’s staff. I don’t know why – you’ll –“

Merlin’s expression stopped him in his tracks. His eyes were wide and he was smiling in obvious delight.

“Arthur, this is lovely. It’s just how I imagined it. Thank you. I will keep it with me.” He swallowed. “A reminder of you.” And as if he couldn’t help himself he leaned forward and kissed Arthur gently. “I’ll see you later.” And, with a gentle touch to Arthur’s face, he was gone.

 

**

 

In between the fitful bouts of sleep he managed before morning, Arthur decided to set aside everything on the proposed trip other than his pleasure in Merlin’s company. If that was all he would ever have, then he’d make the best of it.

Even now, knowing Merlin’s opinion of him, knowing that someone found him attractive, had done wonders for his self-esteem.

Arthur was astute enough to recognise that this was a culmination rather than an epiphany; that the months of therapy with Gaius had been necessary for Arthur to get to this point. For the first time there wasn’t the overwhelming dread at the thought of returning home. There was no way Arthur was going to being hidden away, cowed, overruled. It dawned on him then that he was his father’s son, and could exert his own power within their relationship.

While Gaius had put all the building blocks in place, it was Merlin who’d made Arthur see.

He joined Merlin and some of the circle Merlin had gathered around him for breakfast and for the first time Arthur found the conversation easy. Merlin left him for a moment before they met the tender, checking that his baggage had been sent to the hotel, before he joined the chatting group once more.

Arthur glanced up and met his gaze, flushing a little as he saw the warmth and pride.

Gwen clutched his arm. “Merlin tells me he’s going to drag you all the way to Y Gaiman,” her eyes were sparkling. “He’s been talking about it since the start of the voyage. He’ll bore you silly and you’ll probably miss the boat.”

“Gwen,” Merlin attempted to sound shocked. “The purser has organised a car and a driver. I’m sure he’s quite sure when the boat sails tonight.” It was said with dry humour. The purser was a genial, helpful man with extraordinary organisational skills and a way with expressive eyebrows that Arthur had only ever seen Gaius get close to.

“Mr Kilgarrah is a force to be reckoned with, that’s for certain.” Arthur joked and as he turned, Arthur saw the man himself watching them from an upper deck. Kilgarrah was too far away to have heard anything but he glanced at Merlin, then back to Arthur, and he smiled, saluted, and walked away.

Arthur put it from his mind. Whether Kilgarrah knew or guessed, after today it wouldn’t much matter. He turned his attention back to his laughing comrades, smiling at Merlin when a hand squeezed his elbow, the touch lost in the general melee as they got themselves settled in the tender.

 

**

 

They joined the others for morning coffee before departing to find their driver. The fact they’d no Spanish and he’d even less English didn’t seem an issue, at least until they began travelling on ever more treacherous roads and, according to Merlin’s calculations, should have reached their destination some time before.

“Perhaps we should turn around,” Arthur said, aware of time passing and the immutable deadline of the ship leaving port with the tide.

“I think you’re right,” Merlin leaned forward and tapped the driver on his shoulder. The man turned to face him but continued driving, veering dangerously into the middle of the road.

“Watch the road,” Merlin and Arthur yelled in unison, grateful when the man nodded enthusiastically and then less so when he ignored them.

Merlin pantomimed them turning around and the driver nodded his understanding and yanked on the wheel. Merlin and Arthur were tumbled around in the back of the car and there was a confusion of yelling, wheels scrunching and suspicious noises from the engine before they suddenly shot backwards, at speed, off the road and down an incline.

After what seemed like an age they stopped. Merlin was sprawled all across Arthur by this point and while Arthur wouldn’t normally have been complaining, there was a certain urgency to the mutual scrambling as they untangled themselves and spilled out of the car onto the rough ground.

One look at the car and it was clear they were going nowhere. Their driver had obviously reached the same conclusion as he had his hands around his head and was wailing in a rapid outpouring of local patois that neither Arthur nor Merlin could hope to follow.

After a confused conversation that was mostly conducted through hand signals, Arthur and Merlin suddenly found themselves on their own by the ruined car watching as their driver scrambled up the hill and trotted out of sight.

“I think he’s going to get help.” Merlin said.

“Well,” Arthur said. “I’m not sure he’s too worried about us, but I’m fairly convinced he wants his car. We’d better get as comfortable as we can – I suspect it can get fairly cold out here at night.

Merlin was looking apologetic. “You’ll miss the sailing. I’m so sorry.”

Arthur looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you dare apologise,” he said and there was a sharpness in his tone. “This is the first adventure I’ve ever had in my life. And I get to share it with you.”

Swallowing hard, Merlin smiled at him. “Let’s see if there’s any wood around – we could have a campfire.”

They wandered around and found enough wood for a small fire and then raided the cars for rugs. Arthur extricated the long seat and backrest from the back of the car and Merlin came up trumps with the picnic he had arranged. All in all, it was a comfortable camp and they settled down for the night.

Greatly daring after sharing the bottle of wine, Arthur wrapped his arm around Merlin as they watched the small fire flickering. The car seats were comfortable enough and with their coats and the rugs over them, they were warm. Arthur had never been so happy in his life and he smiled as Merlin relaxed against him and shifted his arm to set it across Arthur’s waist and tucked his head down onto Arthur’s shoulder. 

Arthur bent his head and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s hair.

They did not speak.

**

Morning arrived far too quickly for Arthur, but at least it brought their driver and help. A mere couple of hours later and Arthur was back in Porto Madryn, discussing his travel options with a representative of the cruise company. Merlin stood at his side as Arthur was informed he could catch a flight to the next port of call that afternoon – or he could spend the time at a local hotel for four days before taking a flight that would arrive the same day the ship made port. Arthur bit his lip and glanced sideways at Merlin, who was still and silent, though the tension was clear to Arthur in Merlin’s clenched hands and the way his eyes were fixed on the floor.

Arthur smiled at the representative. “I think I’d like to explore here for a few days. I’d still like to get to see Y Gaiman, after all.”

Merlin’s fingers uncurled.

**

Late that evening, Arthur pulled his robe around him and stepped out through the French doors onto the terrace. He breathed the scented air deep into his lungs and listened to the sounds of the night, so different from all he was used to. 

Anticipation was thrumming through him. He’d spent much of the day in Merlin’s company and their flirting had escalated until they were linking hands and holding gazes any time they had a moment of privacy. Arthur wasn’t the least bit surprised when Merlin stepped out onto the terrace to join him. Merlin was carrying two glasses of Scotch and handed one over with a gentle smile, using the opportunity to slide his fingers across the back of Arthur’s hand in a caress which sent the blood pumping ever faster through Arthur’s veins.

For long moments they stood shoulder to shoulder, sipping at the whisky until eventually Arthur spoke, finding his courage.

“It’s your choice, you know, what happens now?”

“I know. And I know what I want to happen, but, Arthur, it’s not fair to you. I can only offer this time. There’s no future for us, you know that.”

“Yes. I understand.” Suddenly Arthur felt strong, sloughing off all his anxiety. Merlin wanted him and that gave him so much confidence, even if Arthur still found it hard to accept that this beautiful man could care for him, could want him. “I wouldn’t trade four days with you for a lifetime with anyone else. I want you, Merlin, want you to be my first, to show me what love is –“

Merlin kissed him, stopping the flow of words. Drawing back, his eyes glimmering in the muted terrace lights, he whispered. “Oh, my darling.”

It was as if some kind of shockwave ripped through Arthur, emotion crowding into his throat, making his eyes water. Arthur saw the concern growing in Merlin’s eyes and struggled to find the words to reassure him.

“No-one’s ever called me ‘darling’ before,” Arthur shrugged, trying to make a joke of it, only to be left breathless by the expression of understanding and love on Merlin’s features before Arthur’s mouth was captured once more.

Arthur broke away, some modicum of common sense remaining. “Not here,” he murmured into Merlin’s ear. Arthur took his hand and led Merlin into his room, and wondered at his own lack of nerves. Instead, Arthur felt settled and at ease in his own skin for the first time in his life, and although anticipation and desire thrummed through his blood, he felt strong and in control. Arthur disposed of his glass and took Merlin’s too, before Arthur shut the doors and drapes, enclosing them within their own private world.

They reached for one another at the same moment, Arthur cupping Merlin’s cheek and stroking his thumb repeatedly across one cheekbone as he leaned into the kiss. Merlin groaned deep in his throat, opening his mouth and allowing Arthur’s tongue to slip in and explore the wet heat beyond.

It was so much sensation, and the knowledge it wouldn’t end at the one kiss sent a frisson of sheer want through Arthur, its passing leaving him shaking and clinging to Merlin. 

Strong arms tightened their hold around him and Arthur realised Merlin was becoming alarmed.

“It’s all right, Arthur, darling. We don’t need to do anything more. It’s all right to be nervous – “

“Shut up, idiot,” Arthur said, his tone somewhere between laughter and desire. “I’m not – it’s not –“ He wanted to say if wasn’t nerves, except it was a little. “Just – I want you. I want you so much.” He pressed his mouth to Merlin’s once more.

When the kiss ended, leaving them breathless, wide-eyed and aroused, Arthur whispered. “I’m not afraid or nervous, Merlin. I could never be afraid with you.”

Merlin’s smile was blinding and he reached for Arthur’s hand and interlocked their fingers as he drew Arthur across to the bed.

**

Arthur woke slowly, stretching and then wincing slightly as the previous night’s activities made themselves felt. Merlin had kissed him and left when it began to get light, both aware they would have to be careful. They’d arranged to meet for breakfast and a glance at the bedside clock got Arthur moving. As he made himself ready for the day it occurred to Arthur that this was something his father would never be able to take from him and his smile widened, looking forward to another day in Merlin’s company – and another night in Merlin’s arms.

Merlin rose to meet him as Arthur walked into the restaurant, and Arthur knew both of them were sporting matching grins as they shook hands.

As Arthur sat, a little gingerly, he asked. “Do you have meetings today?”

“I’ve postponed them. Business can wait for a few days.”

They shared a long look, which lasted until the waiter interrupted them. 

Arthur felt as if he’d run a race and could see the flush colouring Merlin’s normally pale cheeks.

**

The following few days seemed to last forever and not long enough. Arthur watched the plane taxi towards the terminal building, staring in something of a daze as the passengers deplaned. His mind was still replaying his last moments with Merlin. Arthur had asked him not to come to the airport, too afraid of how Arthur might give himself away and knowing such a thing couldn’t happen in a public place. Instead, they’d exchanged their goodbyes in Arthur’s room that morning, the memory both painful and sweet. 

Arthur’s hand slipped into his pocket and he pulled out the envelope Merlin had placed there. He chuckled aloud as he saw the picture Merlin had drawn for him – and though it was just crude stick figures, he’d managed somehow to imbue them with life and charm. Or perhaps, Arthur thought fondly, Arthur was simply so enamoured with Merlin that anything he did was bound to please. He put the drawing away and slipped the envelope carefully into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, holding his hand against where it was placed for a moment. 

His flight was called and he moved forward with the other passengers. A sixth sense had him turning as he reached the gate. 

At the back of the small terminal building Arthur saw a figure that caught the breath in his throat.

Merlin

Their eyes met and Merlin looked a little sheepish at being caught out. Arthur saw him mouth ‘sorry’ with an accompanying, rueful shrug of his shoulders.

Arthur smiled, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat. ‘Thank you’ he mouthed silently in response, touched his hand to his heart and then had to turn away to walk through the gate.

Away from Merlin.

Forever.

**

Tristan was bored, wondering why on earth his mother had insisted he join her to meet Uncle Arthur. He could admit to himself a certain awkwardness and residual guilt over the reaction his teasing had generated so many months before. It didn’t matter that he was fond of his uncle but Tristan had always felt awkward in his presence and had used the teasing as a way of trying to talk to him. It had never occurred to Tristan until his mother had pointed it out quite forcefully, that it could be seen as cruel.

Sighing, Tristan scanned the crowds of people, unable to see anyone who remotely resembled Uncle Arthur. His mother’s shocked gasp turned his head and Tristan followed her eyes until he could see the tall blond man walking down the gangway, laughing down at a dark-haired young woman. The man behind clapped him on the shoulder and as the blond man’s eyes scanned the crowd, Tristan’s mother yelled.

“Arthur. Over here!”

Tristan felt his jaw drop as the man turned in their direction and grinned widely at them before wading through the crowd towards them.

The next few moments were a confused flurry as any number of people joined them to exchange good-byes. Arthur greeted Tristan’s mother with a hug, swinging her around exuberantly, before introducing her to his friends, and Tristan found himself shaking hands with the young couple from the gangplank, Mr and Mrs DuLac. Eventually, though, Tristan found himself face to face with his uncle.

“Tristan. You’re looking well.” Quick as a flash, Arthur reached out and tweaked his middle. “Look at you, chubby.” 

Tristan heard the crack of laughter from his mother as she left them to go and collect the car, and Tristan looked up into his uncle’s twinkling eyes. 

“Uncle Arthur, I’m – “

“Delighted to see me again. Of course you are, Tristan.” 

Arthur was laughing at him, but without malice, and Tristan was sure Arthur had deliberately cut off his attempts to apologise.

“Come on, let’s find your mother before she’s on the warpath.”

As they set off in pursuit of Morgana, Arthur gripped Tristan’s elbow briefly and Tristan smiled up at him, realising Arthur had understood and accepted all that Tristan wanted to express. As they walked, Tristan asked Arthur about his trip and was laughing aloud at one of his anecdotes as they joined his mother.

**

Arthur refused his sister’s offer of moral support and instead elected to face his father alone.

Monmouth’s expression when he opened the door to Arthur was priceless.

“Yes, Monmouth, it is me.” 

“Oh Master Arthur, it’s good to see you looking so well.” 

There were tears in the old man’s eyes and such a heartfelt tone in Monmouth’s voice that Arthur felt a lump forming in his throat. He squeezed Monmouth’s arm in unspoken affection.

“I feel well, thank you.”

“His Grace has been asking for you this past hour.” Monmouth was nervous and Arthur couldn’t blame him.

“I’ll bet he has,” Arthur said, suddenly pitched back into feeling like a small, scared boy.

“Oh, Master Arthur, this came for you – special delivery.”

Curious, Arthur slit open the envelope he was handed and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Arthur laughed aloud as the familiar sight of Merlin’s art attempts were revealed. There was a stick figure holding a staff with a castle towering over him. Below, in block capitals was written: MERLIN ARRIVES IN CAMELOT.

“You wonderful man,” Arthur whispered, oblivious to Monmouth still hovering nearby, or the sudden understanding that flooded Monmouth’s features. Arthur’s fingers lingered gently on the sketch. “You silly, glorious man.”

Arthur took a deep breath, popped the sketch close to his heart, smiled wide and confident at Monmouth, and moved towards the drawing room and Uther.

As he reached the door it opened and a short, homely-looking woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform slipped out.

“Hello, dear,” she said, ignoring Monmouth’s scandalised mutter at the lack of correct address. “You must be Arthur. Your sister, Morgause suggested that your father would benefit from having a trained nurse around. I’m Nurse Peters but please, call me Alice.” She shook his hand, her firm grip and the twinkle in her eye suggesting a strength of character that one might miss at first glance. 

“Your father’s just fired me, of course, as you’ve come home, but you might have a different idea. He’s a lamb really, you know.” She smiled at Arthur, amusement and understanding holding equal weight in her expression.

Arthur chuckled. “Alice, I rather suspect that you are a treasure.”

In the past he would have knocked on the door to the drawing room but now, with a deep breath and a final touch to where the cartoon lay, he breezed through the door.

“Father, you’re looking well. It’s good to see you again.” Taking his courage in his hands, he did as he had seen Morgana and Morgause do many times and dropped a brief kiss on Uther’s cheek, and took a seat on one of the plush, old-fashioned sofas. “I must tell you all about the cruise after I’ve unpacked-“

Uther looked a little flustered but soon rallied and interrupted him. “As to that, now you are home I have discharged the nurse – your sisters refused to do their duty and stay with me while you were gone. Now you’re here I’ll not need her. I’ll have your belongings moved to the room next to mine. Your art supplies can be disposed of. And really, what are you wearing?”

With growing horror, Arthur heard his father outline the ways in which Uther would pull him down once again. But he had tasted freedom now – freedom and a love that sustained him. Arthur got to his feet and walked to the ugly, ornate fireplace, staring at it for a moment. Two things came to his mind then, recalling Gaius explaining the roots of Uther’s need to control, the desperate love at the core, and remembering the way Merlin had praised Arthur’s strength.

Arthur broke into Uther’s diatribe. “Oh, I’ll be busy, father, so it would be best to keep Alice on. She seems very capable.”

“Busy?” There was a deceptive mildness in Uther’s voice. “What will you be doing?”

“I’m not quite sure yet.” Arthur kept his tone light. “I’d like to learn how the estate runs. Jordan is getting on and we want to be sure whoever replaces him is honest. And if Alice stays on, we don’t have to go to the trouble of moving my things. I’m quite content to stay in my current rooms.”

His father’s next salvo was over who paid for his clothes and keep, to which Arthur responded with the mild statement that he was quite sure he could work for a living should he need to and eventually Uther seemed reconciled, at least for the moment, to this new version of his son.

Arthur escaped to his room as soon as he could, pleased when Monmouth turned up at his door shortly after, bearing a silver salver with a glass of Scotch perched precisely upon its centre.

“Very thoughtful, Monmouth. Perhaps you could arrange for whisky and brandy decanters to be placed in my sitting room from now on?”

“Of course, my lord.” 

They shared a smile and Monmouth left.

Round one to Arthur. It was good to know he had another staunch ally in Monmouth, too. He touched the place against his heart where the envelope sat. 

“Thank you, Merlin.”

**

Uther and Arthur existed in an uneasy truce. Every time Arthur felt weighed down by the unending disapproval Arthur would look at the cartoons that continued to arrive at regular intervals and would feel his confidence soar. It wasn’t long before he realised the rough drawings were telling a story – a story of a young wizard called Merlin coming to Camelot to help Prince Arthur. Once Arthur had the whole story of Merlin’s arrival, he began to use his own talent to bring them to life, painting himself and Merlin into a continuing tale of magic and growing friendship, and an idea began to take root within him.

Arthur’s relationships with Morgana and Morgause were much closer now as he understood how much they cared for him. And in Tristan, too, he found an unexpected ally dragging him into a morning ride more often than not, or volunteering Arthur for the local cricket team.

All in all it was a richer, fuller life than Arthur had ever known and every day helped to cement his new-found confidence and drive.

And if Arthur lay awake sometimes, almost overcome by loss, well, no one need ever know.

**

 

As time passed, relations with Uther improved, especially when Elena Godwyn became a part of their inner circle. Tristan, with a saucy wink at his uncle, had invited her to join their morning ride. Elena was a superb horsewoman and a witty conversationalist. Arthur at first thought her clumsy and tactless until he recognised that the usual social mores meant little to her and, with all the privilege of rank, she spoke her mind. They developed a close friendship and after a few months, Uther began dropping none-too-subtle hints about marriage and the Pendragon line.

**

Arthur and Elena pulled their horses up at the end of the gallop and Arthur laughed aloud at the triumphant face Elena turned towards him. She always won their races. Reins loose and horses walking quietly together, they enjoyed the spring morning in silence for a while.

“You’re not much of a one for women, are you Arthur?”

Arthur almost choked. “Elena,” he said, scandalised.

Elena laughed in response. “Oh, Arthur, we’ve been seeing so much of one another over the past few months and you’ve not so much as held my hand.”

There wasn’t a great deal he could say in response. The last person who’d held his hand was Merlin, in the early morning of their last day, standing by the door as they held on until the very last moment. He swallowed and then was startled as Elena leant across and laid a hand on his wrist, her eyes soft.

“Oh my dear. Who broke your heart?”

Arthur laughed, pushing down the sudden sob that tried so hard to escape. “He didn’t break it, Elena, he helped me to understand it and open up. He still loves me. I know it.

“Tell me about him.”

The relief was overwhelming. To be able to say Merlin’s name aloud, to share all the memories, thoughts and feelings that had been trapped within him. By the time he’d finished he was grinning at Elena.

“He sounds wonderful,” Elena said. “Look, we’re almost at Godwyn Hall. Come and have breakfast. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

For a moment, old insecurities rose. “My father…”

Elena waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry.”

Arthur grinned at her insouciant response, and then laughed aloud as she grabbed at the reins of Arthur’s horse and began dragging them towards her home.

Godwyn Hall was familiar enough to Arthur, but he was always struck by the atmosphere, the comforting air of warmth and friendliness that seemed to emanate from the very fabric of the building, in direct contrast to the cold austerity of Pendragon Manor.

“Good morning, Miss Elena. And young Mr Arthur too, that’s a pleasant addition to the morning. Your father is still abed, Miss, but Miss Mithian is in the breakfast room.”

“Thank you, Peter. How’s your foot today?”

“Much improved. Thank you, Miss.”

“Well, remember you’ve still to rest it as much as you can.” Elena grinned at the elderly butler and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Could you be a dear and call Pendragon Manor and let them know Arthur will be breakfasting with us. And then you go and sit down.” She shouted after the retreating figure, chuckling when the butler raised a dismissive hand.

Arthur was used to the familiarity of the household here, but it never ceased to amaze him.

He was dragged from his bemusement by Elena as she captured his hand and towed him unceremoniously into the breakfast room and announced to the young woman sitting there.

“Mithian, this is Arthur. We’re going to be married.”

For a moment, Arthur thought he’d swallowed his tongue while the young woman, Mithian, simply looked exasperated. She stood and came round the table, offering Arthur her hand.

“Hello, Arthur, Elena’s told me about you. I’m Mithian Villiers. What on earth is she blithering on about now?”

Arthur liked her immediately, her no-nonsense attitude appealing to him.

“I have no idea,” he replied, taking her hand and appreciating the firm handshake. He turned to look at Elena, only to find her gaze fixed on Mithian and – oh.

He sank into a seat. “You can’t be serious, Elena,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked. “It would make sense. It would keep out families from bothering us and I – we –.” She blushed a rosy pink.

“I understand,” Arthur said, saving her the trouble of a stumbling attempt at an explanation. “Mithian, what do you think of this?” Because this was not just about Arthur and Elena. 

She was hesitant. “I’m not sure. Your families would expect children.”

“We can say I’m barren,” Elena shrugs. “It would mean we could all live our lives without interference.”

The discussion went back and forth until in the end, Arthur rode home to announce to his father that he was engaged to Elena Godwyn and Arthur pretended he didn’t see the triumph in Uther’s eyes.

**

The next few months followed in something of a blur and it came as a shock to Arthur when he realised he’d been engaged to Elena for over six months, and it was almost two years since he’d last seen Merlin.

The drawings hadn’t stopped, arriving every week and Arthur had resisted all his father’s demands about where they came from and who was sending them. He delighted in the adventures Merlin’s crude sketches described, transforming them into a series of pictures and matching each up with a part of the story. The previous month a children’s book had been published containing the first of a series of tales and his publisher was already badgering him about when the next set would be ready. Arthur was just as keen to continue publishing. It was the only way he could think of to respond to Merlin, somehow knowing Merlin would find the book and understand the message. One of the pictures for the second volume was drying on his easel and he’d shown it to his family, ignoring his sisters’ amusement and it was Tristan who’s showed a real interest, questioning Arthur for some time about how he worked. His sisters may have been amused but at least they encouraged him to continue and had taken great pride in his first book. Arthur was pleased, though he couldn’t explain to them what it meant, how he clung to this as the only way he could tell Merlin that Arthur still loved him.

 

**

Arthur sighed, hoping his irritation wasn’t too obvious. He shifted in the seat of the limousine and pulled at the bow tie, which he was convinced had developed a life of its own and was slowly strangling him – probably Mithian’s doing. 

He sighed.

Mithian.

While the relationship between Elena and Arthur remained cordial, the same couldn’t be said about that between Arthur and Mithian. They were fond of one another and under different circumstances would have been great friends. But the strain of the engagement was obviously telling and the worried glances Elena cast at Mithian were increasing with every passing day, just as Mithian’s reaction to Arthur deteriorated.

Mithian was glaring at him now.

“For heaven’s sake, Arthur, you’re like a child. Sit still would you – we’re almost there.”

“Mithian,” Elena said.

Arthur held up his hands to stop the impending spat and they all subsided into an uncomfortable silence.

The evening was a gala event to introduce Leon’s new building design for the latest art museum. It was a prestigious commission and Leon had expressed his own delight at the final designs.

All Arthur could think about was finding the bar.

They exited the car and made their way through the milling crowds of tuxedos and long glittering gowns, Arthur heading over to where Leon and Morgana were holding court.

Greetings were exchanged; Arthur’s warm and affectionate with Leon and Morgana, although those between the women were less so. Leon pulled Arthur aside.

“I have to introduce you to our new intern from the Birmingham office. I’ve asked for his input on this project and he helped with the final design. He’s only been studying formally for a year but he’s got such talent.”

Arthur’s heartbeat was like a bell tolling, a recognition even before he turned to find the tall figure of his lover standing before him.

“Arthur, please meet Merlin Emrys. He’s going to be a great architect.”

“Arthur, I’m pleased to meet you.” 

Merlin held out his hand and Arthur had to fight not to grab it and pull Merlin into his arms. He covered Merlin’s fingers with his own and revelled in the touch while he struggled not to give himself away to everyone within sight. He could feel the trembling in Merlin’s fingers.

“Mr Emrys - Merlin. I’m pleased to meet you.” He forced the urbane, meaningless words from a throat closed by emotion and shocking want. He’d yet to let go of Merlin’s hand and Merlin seemed in no hurry to release him either.

Leon glanced between them, and his sudden expression of curiosity broke Arthur and Merlin apart. Leon favoured them with another sharply knowing look and then moved away, leaving them alone. As the waiter passed, Merlin snagged two glasses of scotch without asking Arthur what he wanted to drink, and handed one to him.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmured, his tone redolent of longing and affection. “You’re an architect. I’m so damn proud of you.” His voice cracked.

“Training to be an architect, at least.” Merlin smiled at him before he continued. “I didn’t realise the connection with Leon until today – until I met your sister. Arthur,” he said. “I saw your book. It’s wonderful. I’m proud of you, too.”

Arthur couldn’t suppress his grin. “I hoped you’d see it. You don’t know how much it helped to hear from you.” They were standing so close, well inside the usual personal space one would expect from new acquaintances. Arthur could smell Merlin’s cologne, the scent sparking heat deep within him, recalling what it felt like to wake with that scent wrapped around him. Arthur breathed in deeply, witnessing an answering light flare to life in Merlin’s eyes.

Leon approached them then, apparently oblivious to the loaded atmosphere, breaking in with genial and warm conversation as he inexorably drew Merlin away to meet someone else.

Stumbling back, Arthur tucked himself into a corner and tried to become as unobtrusive as possible, enabling him to track every movement Merlin made. Occasionally, Merlin would glance in his direction, just as aware of Arthur.

Elena found Arthur eventually.

“There you are! Are you ill, Arthur? You look…” She followed his gaze. “Arthur?”

Merlin was talking to Mithian and turned to meet Arthur’s eyes unerringly and Arthur wondered what they were discussing.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” Elena asked.

Startled, he turned his attention to her. “You mustn’t say – “

He got no further before a delicate hand was placed on his arm.

“”It’s fine, Arthur. I understand.”

Mithian joined them at that moment and when Arthur looked past her he could no longer see Merlin.

“Where’s Merlin?”

“Mr Emrys?” Mithian asked. “He said something about a midnight train back to Birmingham.”

Without saying goodbye?

“I have to –“ He stared at Elena until she shoved him none-too-gently.

“Go.”

**

The next thing Arthur was clearly aware of was dashing along the platform, of swerving through the milling crowd until –

“Merlin!”

Merlin was just boarding the train and he turned sharply as if caught out in some guilty act.

Arthur couldn’t help himself, reaching up to cover Merlin’s fingers as they rested on the open carriage window. “You left.” How could you leave me?

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was thick and throaty. “I heard you’re to be married. She’s very beautiful -.”

“Merlin, stop, please – you know it’s not –“

“I know. I know, but I want you to be happy.”

Oh, dear God. Arthur stared up at him, all the helpless longing etched on his features, he knew, along with the fear that he might never hear from or see Merlin again.

“Please, Merlin.” Uther would be horrified to hear his son beg in such an undignified manner, but Arthur didn’t care.

“I understand, my darling. I do. Don’t worry, I have so many stories to tell you.”

“How many?”

“Enough for the rest of our lives and beyond. I promise.”

The train hissed out steam and the sound of the guard’s whistle cut between them.

“Merlin, I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too. Be well, my darling.”

Arthur managed to smile, even as Merlin’s fingers slipped away from his grasp and the train pulled away, the steam obscuring Merlin from Arthur’s view, but he stood there and stared after the train until it had completely disappeared.

Silent, sad, Arthur finally turned and made his way out of the station.

**

Arthur’s morning ride with Elena the next day was a silent affair and as they meandered back towards the boundary between the two properties, Elena gentled her horse to a stop. Blankly, Arthur stared across at her.

“It’s never going to work, is it, Arthur?”

He drew in a deep breath. “No. No, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can pretend any longer.”

It’s fine. You’re right. All I’ve done is make Mithian unhappy.” There was a long silence. “Arthur, I hope we can continue to be friends.”

“My God, Elena. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. There’s no way I’m losing that.”

She grinned at him, obviously relieved. “Race you to breakfast. We’ll tell Mith the good news.” And she was off from a standing start into a flying gallop.

Arthur’s horse jibbed and jingled the bit, eager to follow. Arthur, suddenly light-hearted, laughed and loosened the reins, whooping with glee as he urged his willing mount in pursuit.

**

It was unfortunate that Arthur didn’t manage to avoid Uther when he returned, hearing his imperious tone as Arthur passed the study door. Sighing, he entered and dropped a kiss on his father’s cheek, something Arthur had been at pains to do since his return. There’d been so little overt familial affection in his life, a fact Arthur had only realised he’d been starved of through his sessions with Gaius. Merlin’s easy, tactile affection had helped him too, and Arthur was trying as hard as he could to show his own love. Uther might be cantankerous, self-righteous and unbending, but he was the only parent Arthur had ever known and Gaius’ insight had helped him understand Uther a little more.

“Arthur, I’ve decided you should have the wedding reception here.”

Oh God, this was not going to go well.

“I’m sorry, father, I’ve just left Elena and we’ve decided to call off the wedding.”

“What?”

Arthur sighed, hoping to get his explanation in before his father’s ire took over.

“Elena and I are good friends, father, but this marriage wasn’t right for either of us.”

“What nonsense is this? You will marry. I insist on it.”

“It won’t work, father. I’m sorry.” He turned away to stare out of the study windows, blind to the swathe of perfect drive and lawns and instead a pair of blue eyes filled his vision. His Merlin. Arthur realised now that no one else would do. 

“Let’s not argue, father. We’ve been getting along so well.” He turned as he spoke, only to have the words catch in his throat.

His father was bright red, almost purple in the face and was writhing in his chair, fighting for breath. In the split second it took Arthur to accept what was happening, Uther slumped and the room was overtaken by a terrible stillness that not even Arthur’s panicked breathing could impact.

“Alice!” He found his voice, shouting out. “Alice! Alice!”

She was through the door before he’d stopped shouting, taking in the situation at a single glance.

All Arthur could do was stumble backwards as the litany took root within him.

_I killed him. I killed him. I killed my father._

Through the funeral and his oration.

_I killed him._

Through the reassurances of his sisters, Elena and Mithian, Alice, Tristan.

_I killed him._

Through the reading of the will as he listened to his father describe Arthur as his beloved son, leaving him the estate, a fortune.

_I killed him._

On the day after the will was read, Arthur was on a train taking him to Somerset and Cascades. The train rumbled along the track, its incessant rhythm a counterpoint to the guilt pulsing through him.

_I killed him. I killed my father._

**

It lasted until he walked through the doors into the calming atmosphere of Cascades, until he caught sight of the sullen, unhappy child staring unseeing at the jigsaw pieces scattered on the table before him.

Mordred.

The breath caught in Arthur’s throat and his heart thudded hard and frightening in his chest. Merlin’s beloved boy, looking so sad and lost.

Some of Arthur’s guilt seemed to slough off him as easily as he shrugged off his overcoat, when faced with Mordred’s misery. Arthur threw the garment over the arm of a chair and settled into a seat and the table. 

“Hello. Do you mind if I join you? I can never resist a jigsaw. Shall I gather all the red pieces?”

Mordred seemed to hunch in on himself, shrugging rather than responding orally.

As Arthur stared at Mordred, he catalogued the similarities to Merlin, seeing the makings of a handsome young man hidden under the heavy glasses, braces and slouched sadness. He wondered wistfully if Mordred’s smile would be like Merlin’s.

One of the nursing staff approached, raising her eyebrows at Arthur’s presence, but smiling a welcome. “Come on, Mordred. You’re scheduled for table tennis now.”

The panic was instantaneous.

“No, no. I can’t. I won’t. They all hate me. I can never hit the ball and –“

“Mordred,” It sounded like an old argument. “You have to mix with the other children and you need to get some exercise.”

“No, please don’t make me.”

Arthur couldn’t bear it. “I said I’d run the car down to the garage in the village. Mordred could come with me and we’ll walk back. Would you like that, Mordred?”

Mordred looked at Arthur as if he’d suddenly been offered the world.

“Yes, oh yes, please.”

“Your Grace, I don’t think – “ the nurse began.

Mordred turned to her and his pleading expression was obviously softening her up. 

“Well, you promise to drink your cocoa when you get back?”

“Every drop. I promise.”

“Well, then – go and get your coat.” As Mordred darted off, she turned to Arthur. “I’m not sure what Gaius will say to you disrupting his rules,” but there was a twinkle in her eyes and Arthur smiled. 

Finna had been one of the first of the nursing staff to trust Arthur’s instincts where their younger residents were involved when Arthur had been with them.

“He’s not ready, Finna.”

She nodded in agreement. “We don’t seem to be making any headway with him at all.” Her expression was troubled. “See if you can get him to eat something, would you?”

“Anything?”

“Anything at all.”

Arthur nodded and then smiled at Mordred as he ran up to him and tugged his arm.

“I’m ready.” For the first time, Mordred smiled.

Arthur swallowed and led the way to the car.

**

The brief moment of excitement had dissipated by the time they reached the village and left the car. Arthur led the withdrawn boy into the local café, pleading a need for ice cream. He bought them one each and then watched, concerned, while Mordred, after managing a few mouthfuls, spent the next few moments slowly destroying the dessert.

“Tell me about your family, Mordred?” Arthur asked, when all the more innocuous conversational gambits had failed.

He didn’t expect the way Mordred’s mouth quivered, the wide blue eyes beginning to blink as he fought back tears.

“My Mum didn’t really want me. My Dad… my Dad’s great but … I think he’s dying.”

“Dying? Why would you say that, Mordred?” Arthur’s heart was thumping hard.

“Why else would he send me away? They won’t let me talk to him or anything.”

And suddenly Arthur saw straight to the root of Mordred’s misery. 

“Have you told anyone? Dr Gaius? Do they know you’re upset about your Dad?”

Mordred shook his head.

“Oh, Mordred,” Arthur saw the tears begin to fall then, and he reached across the table to take one sweaty little hand in his. “You know your Dad’s phone number, don’t you?”

Mordred looked up at him and nodded slowly, a glimmer of light, of hope, lending his eyes sudden expression.

Arthur smiled. “And there are phones just over there. And I’ve got plenty of change. Let’s go and call him, shall we?”

“Really?”

“Really. Right now.”

Merlin, Merlin. Should Arthur speak to him? Should he even let Merlin know Arthur was there, standing beside Merlin’s son? He looked down into Mordred’s face, seeing it alight with Merlin’s smile.

“Come on, Drey.”

Mordred stopped abruptly, staring up at Arthur in surprise.

“My Dad calls me that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I won’t – “

“No,” in his haste to reassure Arthur, Mordred seemed to have dispensed with manners. In the next moment he obviously realised he had been rude and glanced up through his lashes with a shy look that was so like Merlin, Arthur could only smile helplessly. Mordred took that as a sign to continue. “I like it. I’d like you to call me that.”

“Good. Thank you. Come on, now, let’s phone your Dad.”

Arthur could hardly contain his own excitement at the thought. He might hear Merlin’s voice.

Mordred dialled the number carefully, clutching the receiver tight in his small hands. Arthur fought to remain calm as a voice answered, sounding tinny and far away, but indisputably the voice of his lover.

“Good evening, Merlin Emrys speaking.”

“Daddy. Oh, daddy.”

“Drey? Drey, how lovely to hear from you.”

It was too much for Mordred, Arthur saw, as great heaving sobs took over. Arthur could hear Merlin’s alarm and despite his own determination to stay in the background, there was nothing he could do when Mordred thrust the receiver at him and began to cry into his waistcoat. Arthur wrapped an arm around him.

“Mr Emrys,” Arthur was absurdly proud of the fact his voice didn’t shake.

There was a gasp and then a shocked silence.

“Arthur?”

“Arthur Pendragon, here, yes.” He was trying to be formal, but this was Merlin he was talking to. “Merlin, Mordred’s been worried about you. They wouldn’t let him ring you and he thought you were ill.”

“Oh, my poor boy. He’s been so troubled and I remembered how you spoke about Cascades and how much you believed in Dr Harcourt. Sophie couldn’t cope and I thought it would be better if they were apart.”

There was silence, Mordred gradually becoming quieter and calmer.

“Arthur, your father. I’m so sorry. I wanted to write, but –“

“I know. I know you did. Thank you. It happened when I told him Elena and I had decided not to marry. I – I blamed myself but the nurse and doctor both assured me they’d been expecting it.”

“You’re not marrying?”

“No. It was only ever for convenience, anyway. It wasn’t right.”

“I shouldn’t be glad, Arthur,” Merlin said. “But I am. I still feel the same, Arthur.”

“I know. Me, too. Now, Drey’s calmed down, so I’m going to let you two have a lovely long chat.” 

Before he handed the phone to a now eager Mordred, he heard Merlin’s whispered. “Thank you, my darling.”

Arthur swallowed hard and managed to find a grin for Mordred as he passed over the receiver.

“Daddy, it’s so good to talk to you. I’ve missed you so much.”

Arthur stepped away and let them talk, watching the way Mordred’s face had lit up and he was chattering freely, occasionally looking across at Arthur.

Once the call was finished, Mordred joined Arthur at the table. Arthur nodded to the employee behind the counter and a fresh bowl of ice cream was set before Mordred, joined by a coffee for Arthur. Arthur couldn’t help his smile as Mordred demolished the bowlful in short order. Arthur ordered some cake and milk when Mordred confessed he was still hungry.

“Daddy says he knows you – you met when he was on the ship.” Mordred shoved a mouthful of cake into his mouth, attacking the milk with gusto, and leaving himself with a milk and cake moustache.

Arthur swallowed. “That’s right. Your dad is my best friend.” He handed his clean napkin to Mordred and grinned as Mordred sheepishly wiped his face.

Mordred put the napkin down and stared at him, his eyes wide and then he smiled. “That’s what he said, too.”

Oh, Merlin, my love.

“That means you and I are friends now, too,” Arthur said. “Is that all right with you?”

Mordred nodded and smiled. 

**

Finna was delighted when a smiling Mordred skipped into Cascades, his hand clasped in Arthur’s. She sent him off for his cocoa and Arthur filled her in quickly, noticing her distress when Arthur told her about Mordred’s fears for his father. 

“Doctor Harcourt would like to have a word.”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “I’d like a word with him, too.”

“You Grace,” He turned to face Finna, frowning slightly at the sudden formality, “You’re in the room next to Mordred. Don’t worry if you hear him crying out in the night. He’ll be fine.”

Like hell he’d ignore Mordred if the boy began crying, Arthur thought, but he nodded anyway and headed off to find Gaius. He knocked on the study door and entered as he was bidden.

“Arthur, my boy,” Gaius rose, taking off his spectacles and holding out a hand for their firm handshake. “What’s this about you running off with one of my patients, hm? What happened to being so exhausted you just wanted to rest when you got here?”

“I recognised Mordred. He’s the son of a friend.” Arthur hesitated, noticing the way Gaius’ eyebrows raised.

There was a moment of silence between them, and then Gaius gestured him to one of the comfortable armchairs by the fire, before he poured them each a whisky and settled himself into a chair on the other side.

“Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

Arthur recalled the conversation he’d shared with Gaius when he’d last been at Cascades and knew he wouldn’t judge. Sighing, he took a sip of the scotch and settled in to tell him everything.

When Arthur finally made it to bed it was late, but he felt calmer. Gaius had been so accepting, so positive about his relationship with Merlin despite all the difficulties that faced them. Gaius had also listened intently when Arthur discussed first Mordred and then what he would do for other children who were suffering and finding it difficult to cope with the lives they had to lead.

As they spoke together, an idea had begun to take root within Arthur’s mind. He had so much money, his father’s fortune had been vast when Uther inherited it, and Uther himself had built successful companies and invested well, on top of the ancestral home and the land. The thoughts slipping through Arthur’s mind now, the possibilities and the plans, would barely put a dent in that wealth, but could do so much good.

His whirling mind meant he found it difficult to sleep and he heard the first stifled sobs from the room next door. Without even thinking about it, he dragged on his robe and slipped out of his room.

Mordred was burying his face in his pillow, obviously trying to be quiet.

“Drey, Drey. Come on, now. Everything will be all right. I’m here.”

Drey turned into his arms and pressed his face against Arthur’s chest. Between his sobs he managed to blurt out that he had dreamed his father was dead.

Arthur held him close and rubbed a comforting hand up and down his back. “He’s fine, Drey. You know he’s fine and you don’t have to worry about him.”

Mordred nodded and gradually calmed, hiccupping sobs becoming soft breaths as he slipped into a doze. Arthur held him close, his mind whirling. Merlin’s child. He was holding Merlin’s child. He blinked hard, wondering what it would be like to lay Mordred down and walk into the next room, to find Merlin in their bed and tell him quietly about Mordred’s bad dream. As if Mordred was _their_ child. Arthur swallowed and closed his eyes.

 

**

Including regular talks with Merlin in Mordred’s therapy went a long way to helping Mordred and with Arthur’s attention, too, the boy began to blossom. Arthur spent time finding out what interested Mordred and arranged riding and fencing lessons. Arthur discovered that Mordred hated most sports that involved a ball, but he picked up the fencing quickly and had an affinity with horses Arthur had only seen Elena come close to. 

Arthur had spoken to Merlin several times, too, with Gaius actively encouraging him to talk to him about Mordred and his improvement. The conversations inevitably drifted to discussions about their own day; about Merlin’s study as he worked towards his qualification as an architect; how Arthur was managing the estate. Sometimes their talks became more intimate, sharing facts about their lives and their hopes and fears that they’d never have thought to divulge to anyone else.

It was during one of those conversations that Arthur asked, “Would you let Mordred come home to Pendragon Manor with me?”

There was silence for long seconds before Merlin responded. “For how long? I don’t know what Sophie would say? And, Arthur, I need to see him, too.”

“You’re always welcome in my home, Merlin. For as long as you and Mordred want to stay.”

There was another long silence.

“Arthur.”

It was an exhale, a whisper that hardly stirred the air and Arthur knew Merlin understood exactly what Arthur was saying. What he was asking; that Mordred and Merlin could make their home in Pendragon Manor – with Arthur. Arthur held his breath. They’d be taking a risk, but somehow he could no longer imagine spending the rest of his life without Merlin’s physical presence in it. Arthur was astute enough to realise that the main stumbling block was Merlin’s wife and what she might do.

“I want to. You know I do, but I need to finish my training, and try and work something out with Sophie.”

“I know. I know it’s difficult, but will you think about it?”

“Yes, you know I will. And I’d like Drey to stay with you if it isn’t an imposition.” 

“I’d love to have him with me – you can visit soon?”

“I’ll look forward to seeing your home.” 

And you, Arthur heard.

Merlin sighed. “I couldn’t get the time off to take Drey to Cascades. Sophie took him. Gaius told me that she expressly informed them not to let Drey contact me.” The words came slowly, a confession made sadly.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat and rage tore through him. “How could she do something like that? He adores you.”

“That’s exactly why she did it. I can’t send him back to her, you understand. For all she said she wanted a child, it was only a way to try and tie me further to her. Ever since Drey was born, she’s seen him as a tool; a way of punishing me. Drey is a clever boy and a sensitive one. He worked out how much she dislikes him when he was quite young. I know how much you care about him and I know you’ll look after him for me.”

“I will. I promise you that, my love.”

“I finish my official training in six months or so. Leon has already offered me a post in the firm. I can ask him for a transfer to London. I’ll go and see Sophie, too. It’s time we found some way to end this farce. She ‘s a young woman still and I’d like her to find some happiness in her life.”

Merlin was a great deal more charitable than Arthur thought he’d have been if he’d found himself in that situation, but he knew Merlin was right. Apart from anything else, a happy Sophie was less likely to cause them trouble in the future. Yet Arthur, still occasionally struggling with the results of living under the thumb of a domineering father, didn’t think he’d ever be able to forgive Sophie for using Mordred as a pawn.

“I understand. I’ll talk to Gaius tomorrow and if he feels it is the right time and the right situation for Drey, I’ll get him to ring you tomorrow evening, so you can tell him.”

They lingered over their goodnights and then Arthur went to find Gaius once again. Gaius listened carefully to Arthur’s plan.

“Are you doing this for Mordred, Arthur? Or yourself?”

“Both,” Arthur said frankly. “But if you’re concerned, I’ll agree to take Drey but not see Merlin.” It hurt. The very thought hurt. But he knew Merlin would agree instantly if that was the way it had to be. For both of them, Drey’s happiness was more important than their own.

Gaius smiled at him, as if he was proud. “The best thing for Mordred is to be around as many people as possible who love him, will care for him, and will constantly reaffirm that he’s important and matters. I know both you and his father will provide that for him. I suggest that I pay a visit after a month or so and see how you’re getting on?”

When Arthur left Gaius’ study he felt for the first time as if he’d really taken control of his life, as if he was finally an adult. It seemed odd as he’d ostensibly been doing so ever since he had met Merlin, but this time was different. This time he’d decided on a course of action that would change lives other than his own. And he had plans. Plans to continue turning Merlin’s sketches into more books; fund the building of a children’s wing at Cascades; bring Merlin and Mordred into his life as fully as he could. Finally, he was going to live the life he’d always wanted, and hopefully make the people he loved most in the world happy, too.

**

Arthur beat Monmouth to the door although he’d vehemently refute any assertion that he’d been hovering for the past half hour. He hauled the door open and couldn’t help the grin splitting his face.

“Merlin!” He reached out with both his hands and Merlin, grinning wildly, took them and they stood there, staring at one another.

Their reunion was interrupted by a delighted cry from the top of the grand staircase.

“Dad!”

Arthur and Merlin separated as they turned and Arthur heard the gasp of astonishment that escaped Merlin.

It was the first time Merlin had seen Mordred since he left Cascades and the intervening few months had made a huge difference. Gone were the thick glasses and the braces, revealing sparkling blue eyes and white even teeth. Mordred had gained height and weight, filling out his features, and plenty of fresh air had lent colour to his naturally pale complexion.

Mordred attempted a dignified descent, only to break part way, running down the rest of the stairs at his usual breakneck speed and flinging himself into his father’s arms.

Merlin looked at Arthur over Mordred’s shoulder and said silently, ‘thank you’.

Arthur grinned, picking up Merlin’s suitcase, to Monmouth’s dismay but, on receiving a stern glance, allowed the hovering footman to pick up Merlin’s hat and coat.

“Drey, why don’t you show your Dad your room.” Arthur said. Despite his own desire to spend every possible moment in Merlin’s company, he knew that Merlin and Mordred needed this time on their own.

Drey grinned at Arthur and dragged Merlin away, chattering nineteen to the dozen. Arthur watched them leave and then turned, starting as he caught the expression on Monmouth’s face.

“Mr Emrys seems like a fine man.” Monmouth had relaxed considerably since Arthur had become the Duke, but he seldom spoke out of turn despite Arthur sometimes feeling as if Monmouth had been more of a father to him than Uther.

“He is.” What else could Arthur say?

“I’m glad he’s here, Master Arthur.” Monmouth met Arthur’s eyes directly, his own warm with understanding and approval. “I hope we’ll see a great deal of him in the future.”

“ So do I. Thanks, Monmouth.” Arthur rested his hand on one stooped shoulder for a moment. 

Monmouth smiled in response and then in the next instant was his usual proper self. “I shall direct the housekeeper to put Mr Emrys in the state room next to your own, Your Grace. Excuse me.” With his usual dignity, he extricated the case Arthur was still holding and handed it off to a passing footman.

It took Arthur a moment to realise exactly what Monmouth had said. The room next to his would generally have been his wife’s and there was an adjoining door between them. Arthur grinned.

**

Mordred bounced happily into the drawing room and headed across to Tristan and Elena, who were busy discussing the latest addition to the Pendragon stud that was their pride and joy. 

As Mordred passed Arthur, he grinned and said, “Dad’s in the study. He wondered if he could have a word.”

Arthur grinned at Mordred as he passed, trying to retain some semblance of dignity when all he really wanted to do was run through the house and into Merlin’s arms. He walked swiftly across the hall and into the study. When he entered, he took the time to lock the door. This was one meeting he didn’t want to be interrupted.

“Merlin,” he crossed the expanse of rich carpet, wanting nothing more than to reel Merlin in for a kiss.

Merlin stepped away from him, turning until his back was to Arthur, walking across to the desk and staring down at the surface. He picked up and fiddled with a letter opener and when he finally spoke his voice was low and sad.

“I think I should take Mordred home with me.”

Arthur felt as if he was turning to stone. “Why?” he managed.

Merlin spun to face him then, his features twisted in anguish. “You know why, Arthur, you must know. How can I continue to take advantage of you like this? I have nothing to offer in return. And I can’t keep taking and taking, darling.”

“You stupid, stupid man,” Arthur said, stopping Merlin in his tracks. “Or wait, no. Perhaps it’s me who’s stupid. How can you not know that you helped me become who I am; that your love sustains me. You have given me everything, Merlin. Everything. I thought we could work together to raise your son, to give him the life and the love he deserves. Your child. Merlin, have you no idea what you gave me when you allowed Drey to come here? How can you –“

“Arthur, hush,” Merlin stopped the flow of words by the simple expedient of placing his hand across Arthur’s mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. Please, forgive me.” 

Arthur licked Merlin’s palm in response and grinned against the skin when he saw heat and laughter both in Merlin’s expression.

Sliding his hand around to the nape of Arthur’s neck, Merlin pulled Arthur into a gentle kiss, slipping his other arm around Arthur’s waist to bring them even closer together.

Arthur relaxed, wrapping Merlin up in an embrace and held him tight, burying his face against Merlin’s neck.

In this grand room, in this palatial place that Arthur had known his whole life, this house for the first time felt like home.

**

They re-joined the others in the drawing room eventually, and Arthur paused at the door to look around at the gathering. 

Elena and Mithian were chatting with Mordred and Tristan. Mordred looked up as they entered, features troubled until his eyes took them in and then he smiled, wide and happy. Merlin nudged Arthur and then ambled across to join them.

Elena’s father had died the previous spring. A gentle man and not particularly business-like, the death duties had been horrendous and Godwyn Hall had been sold along with most of the contents. Arthur had bought the lot and tried to hand it straight back to Elena. Mortified, proud and still in the depths of grief, Elena had responded with the first outburst of sheer temper Arthur had ever witnessed from her. Eventually, they had reached a compromise. Elena stayed in the house as part of a deal that had her managing the newly established Pendragon stud. As far as Arthur was concerned, the house was hers, but this agreement let her have her pride.

Arthur’s gaze travelled onward. Morgana and Morgause had arrived to spend a week with them, without their husbands, and they were comfortably curled up on a sofa, dressed in casual slacks and jumpers that would have had Uther foaming at the mouth. They broke off from their animated conversation to cast matching grins at him and he walked across to drop a kiss on each of the cheeks raised to him. As he turned away, Morgause caught his hand and he looked questioningly at her.

“Are you happy, Arthur dearest? Are you happy now?”

He squeezed her hand. “Yes, Morgause. I am happy.” His eyes settled on Merlin for a moment, smiling gently as Merlin laughed with Mordred at something Tristan was saying.

Arthur wandered across to the final group, who were clustered around the table. Merlin joined them and stared down at the plans he was still working on.

The plans for the children’s wing at Cascades.

Gaius and Alice were poring over the treatment rooms, while Monmouth and Elena’s butler, Peter, were in dignified discussion regarding the housekeeping areas the wing would need.

“Merlin, my boy,” Gaius embraced Merlin. The two men had hit it off immediately and had become close. “The plans are excellent, really excellent. We just have a few suggestions.”

Arthur met Merlin’s eyes then and they shared a smile before turning their attention to the plans.

**

It was late when they all retired and Arthur undressed, slipping on his robe and pottering around the room, hoping against hope. There was a fire flickering in the grate and the heavy drapes were closed, shutting out the night. The four-poster bed with its rich hangings, was turned down and Arthur could see the fresh white linen bedding. With the low lighting the room looked as if it was set for seduction.

As he grinned wryly, the door connecting the two rooms opened and Merlin stood in the doorway, as if uncertain of his welcome.

Arthur held out his hand and Merlin walked across to join him, gripping his fingers and raising them to his mouth, kissing them gently.

“Can we really have this?” Arthur asked when they broke apart, both flushed and breathing heavily. It had been so long. “Is there a way for us to be together?”

“Yes, Arthur. Yes, I think we can.”

“What about Sophie?”

“We’ve spoken. She has finally agreed to divorce me. I’ve hurt her badly, Arthur, and I’ll always feel guilty for that.”

Arthur wasn’t going to let him dwell on that for long. “You bear part of the responsibility, certainly, but you tried to put it right early on and she wouldn’t let you go.”

“I know. Let’s not talk about it now, but I’d like to speak about it tomorrow, if you’d let me?”

“Of course.” 

Merlin smiled, then. “Mordred looks so well and happy. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“I’d do everything I ever could for Drey, for your son.”

Merlin leaned forward then, whispering into Arthur’s ear. “ _Our_ son, Arthur. Our child.” He pulled back to see the effect of his words.

Emotion crowded into Arthur’s throat, almost too much to contain and he swallowed hard, before reaching forward to initiate another kiss. He was pleased by Merlin’s eager response, and the way the low moan that escaped him was lost in the heat of Arthur’s mouth. Arthur undid the tie on Merlin’s robe and slid the cool silk aside, baring a shoulder. Breaking the kiss, he instead mouthed along Merlin’s exposed skin, delighted at the broken groan it elicited, and even more aroused when Merlin managed to slip Arthur’s robe off and they pressed their naked bodies together.

“Arthur, my darling, I need you so much. Make love to me tonight. I need to feel you inside me, around me, on me.”

Arthur smiled against Merlin’s skin. “ _Licence my roving hands and let them go_.”

There was an answering chuckle and, “ _Behind, before, above, between, below._ ” As he spoke Donne’s words, Merlin was sweeping his hands across Arthur’s body, stroking down the broad back and buttocks, meandering up Arthur’s side to meet on his chest, fingers tweaking nipples and making Arthur gasp his desire, before the gentle touch moved down between them to curl around Arthur’s cock, using pre-com to ease Merlin’s grip as he tugged gently.

“I won’t last long enough if you keep doing that,” Arthur murmured, his eyes half-closed in pleasure at the sensation of Merlin’s hand on him.

Merlin laughed again and his eyes were alight with love and desire. “Then come to bed, and make me yours again.”

They were apart only long enough to slide between the covers and then Arthur rolled on top of Merlin, taking his mouth and letting some of his passion and want sweep over him and turn the kiss into something altogether dirtier. In response, Merlin parted his legs and brought them up around Arthur’s waist, the movement almost automatically causing Arthur to shift to his knees and rut against Merlin, their cocks bumping together.

“Please, please,” Merlin said, his voice wrecked and desperate.

The sound further enflamed Arthur and from there it was an ever-increasing spiral of sound and touch as they discovered one another all over again while the fire licked through their blood. And later, when Arthur had opened Merlin so thoroughly with oil and fingers and then thrust deeply into him, it became an inferno, burning and bright as they reached their climax. 

 

Content, sweating and sated, they lay in one another’s arms, their heads close on a single pillow, staring and smiling and happy. There were no words needed.

Arthur watched as Merlin’s eyes gradually closed and he slept. It was some time before Arthur felt sleep claim him, and he continued to watch Merlin, marvelling at the way his life had changed and wondering what the future held for them.

It would not be easy. The world was changing, but perhaps not quickly enough for them. And one day Mordred would realise – or they would have to tell him. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s forehead. They would face whatever they had to face together.

And they would be happy.

Fin.


End file.
